


Through Ages

by electroniccollectiondonut



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Sentient Arkenstone, Sentient Silmaril(s), The Arkenstone is a Silmaril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 02:54:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21331096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electroniccollectiondonut/pseuds/electroniccollectiondonut
Summary: In which the Arkenstone is a Silmaril and the dwarves wake her up.
Kudos: 13





	Through Ages

**Author's Note:**

> This works under several assumptions:
> 
> A) the Arkenstone is Maedhros's Silmaril
> 
> B) the Silmarils are sentient
> 
> C) the Silmarils were created, in part, from Feanor's own soul.

She thought she could remember, long ago, being a leaf. The thought seemed ridiculous each time it drifted into her focus—leaves cannot become gems—but nonetheless, it seemed true. She may have been fire as well, though that had faded a bit since her creation.

She changed hands often, but not so often as her sister, who stopped counting long before the sweet young strangers carried her into the stars. The last person to hold her, before she fell asleep, was her father’s son, but he was different then, darker, and his being brushed against her own and it hurt.

Liquid flame rose around her, not so bright as to dim her own light but hotter than she’d ever been, and she fell into stasis for years uncountable.

Then someone woke her. It was a strange creature, chipping at the stone around her and carrying her off with shouted reverence. They called her ‘Arkenstone’ and ‘Heart of the Mountain’ and even their king adored her. She’d never had a name before. She had a father and his wife and so many brothers she never got to know, but not a name.

She thought perhaps it was nice.

A great creature, with the same air as the one who had held her captive for so many years, set her home burning and tossed her in with mountains of gold and gems, none nearly as glorious as her, and the righteous indignation she’d inherited from her father burned in her until someone else picked her up.

Another creature she’d never known, but it was kind, and held her safe against the mad king’s wrath. Then blood was spilled and she was given back to the stone, held to the mad king’s breast with hands that had no life.

She slept again.


End file.
